My Thirty-Year-Old Husband's Obsession with Pink

Past thirty, my usually serious husband suddenly developed a fascination with pink. The dark-colored furniture that had stayed the same for ten years was replaced with pink; even the utensils he picked up casually were pink.

I stared at the line of pink pajamas, pink bow ties, and pink underwear hanging out to dry on the balcony, feeling something was off. "I thought you said you hated pink—that it was a color only women liked?"

He was unpacking a new pink bed set and didn't even look up. "Oh, Jack and I made a bet. If I can replace everything in the house with pink, he'll give me his seaside villa for free. Honestly, after looking at it for a while, pink isn't that bad, don't you think?"

I neither agreed nor disagreed. Instead, I called Jack, who blurted out, "What seaside villa? I don't remember ever buying one!"

Powder Pink

After hanging up the phone, I glanced toward the bedroom, where Colin Stone was completely immersed in a sea of pink.

My gut told me he was cheating. But after being together for more than a decade, I liked to think I knew him well enough not to jump to conclusions. Still, after some hesitation, I decided to ask Jack again. Maybe he had said something casually before and just forgotten about it.

The next second, as if he had read my mind, Jack's message arrived. 'Hey, Anya, my bad. I just remembered what you asked earlier. Yeah, that thing really did happen—it was at Colin's birthday. The guys had too much to drink, and I joked that if he redecorated his entire house in pink, I'd give him the seaside villa. It's been a while, so I forgot. Sorry, really didn't mean to make you worry. Don't get the wrong idea about Colin, okay?'

I stared at Jack's clumsy explanation and replied simply, 'It's fine.'

Colin's birthday was two months ago. His sudden obsession with pink had started only a month back. Another excuse full of holes.

Looking around at the pink couch cover beneath me, I finally sent a message to my assistant. 'Find out what Colin's been up to.'

Once that was done, I took a slow look around the house at all the pink things scattered everywhere. From the smallest utensil to the largest piece of furniture—even the curtains—everything pink seemed to crawl across my skin, filling me with a wave of unease and disgust.

I had just finished putting away several pink ornaments when Colin walked out of the bedroom, holding up a pink stuffed toy like a prize. “Anya, isn't it cute?”

The moment he caught sight of my blank expression, his tone shifted immediately. “If you don't like it, I'll toss it. No need for it to bother you.”

He walked to the trash can, paused briefly when he saw that I had already thrown away the pink vase he'd brought home, then silently tossed the stuffed toy in too.

When he